


Naked. Not in berth.

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward, M/M, Nakedness, innuendos, mention of plug&play interfacing, otherwise fairly tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: Drift hated being naked. Hated Wing laughing at him. Hated the whole city, so what was new?Everything, as it turned out. By the end he almost forgot his armour locked into Wing's cabinet.





	

“What are you doing?”

“No. Don’t.”

“Wing.”

“WING!”

“Wiiing?!?!”

There was a faint whine in Drift’s voice now, something close to fear, a hint of panic… something he would never admit, not to Wing, not to anymech else. But the jet was not even answering him. He was faintly humming to himself, like he was vont to do, a nonsensical rhythm with no words, just sunshine, naivete and cheer and all things that were Wing… and he continued to divest Drift of his armour. Half of it was already stacked neatly in a box standing on the small table by the berth and every few breems another joined the growing pile inside.

Drift shivered. No, it wasn’t cold here, but the faint breeze whispered over components that never before felt the soft touch, ruffled sensors that were normally hidden by the safety of metallic plates and it felt… queer. He had known that Wing was faster, stronger… even better than him, the cheerful jet obliviously rubbed it under his nasal sensor every orn. But this power he had over the former Decepticon… this he was not aware of. That Wing could casually disable his motor functions so he all he could do was to lay limp and… exposed and unable to do anything as the jet slowly divested him of his armor. His questions, his pleas, his… almost begging all went unheeded. ‘you’ll see’ was the only answer he got as Wing worked on him.

Under other circumstances, Drift might even have enjoyed the careful touches. Wing didn’t pry the plates off by force, he didn’t yank the loosened pieces, he was careful, even gentle. The touches were almost… almost sensual if he didn’t think of what they were doing. But Drift couldn’t any more think of other things than he could stop being himself. Being naked as it were was only associated in his processor with times and memories better forgotten and buried in time. Wing, of course could not know it. Some things left no outward scars, no obvious reminders. As the protective plates covering his limbs and frame disappeared, the familiar, safe weight lifted away his discomfort grew. 

“Wing…!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you move soon.”

It didn’t calm Drift in the slightest. But he knew there was no deterring Wing now. He was in it… whatever it was.

“Why…?”

Wing carefully finished up by removing the remaining few, smaller pieces, stacked them with the others into the box and shut it. To Dift, it looked awfully final. Surely he didn’t mean him to go on… naked? Wing stood up, still smiling mysteriously and shut the box into a cupboard before coming back and kneeling beside the berth. His cable slid in Drift’s medical port and the enforced motionlessness was lifted.

Drift scrambled to the end of the berth so fast, he yanked the cable out violently and they both winced a little at the snap.

“What the frag did you do this for???”

He wasn’t even sure what to cover first. His spark was safe behind the secondary layers, but he acutely felt the lack of the primary interface covers. He wasn’t aroused, so it didn’t show, but still. The thin, sensitive, irising platelets over spike and valve were anything but a safe cover. 

Wing laughed, clearly totally oblivious of Drift’s discomfort.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take advantage of you.“

Drift growled. It was wrong on so many levels, he couldn’t even say what he thought. Except a ‘frag you’, which came automatically.

“No, we won’t frag.” Wing laughed again, obviously entertained by the former Decepticon. “What I intended does not involve that. Unless you want to, of course.”

“What the slag then???”

“Drift, you are extremely… stiff. You don’t use the tenth of the flexibility you have and apparently not even the sensors I know you to have.”

Drift stared, turning the words in his processor, trying to make sense of them. They were connected to him being naked… how? 

Wing laughed again, the clear, ringing sound annoying the Pit out of Drift. 

“It has everything to do with that.” We will train like this.”

“WHAT?!? No way!”

No way he was going outside, through the whole slagging Citadel, ogled by all Knights… _naked_?!

“Why not?”

Drift glared at the jet, trusting his smoldering glance to speak for him. 

Wing stared back, a bit more unsure now, but bemused as well.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m NAKED, that’s what is wrong!!!”

Wing’s golden optics slid down to his crotch and Drift suddenly felt like covering himself.

“But… you’re not, not really. I… wouldn’t do _that_.”

“Plenty enough so I will not leave this place until I get my armour back and no, you won’t make me do it no matter the harebrained idea you seem to love so much!”

Drift knew that his voice rose as he spoke and he didn’t care if anyone heard him. It was just… no. No way.

Wing started to get the strength of his conviction, because he frowned a little and his everpresent cheerfulness faltered a little around the edges. 

“But it would be good for you… there’s nothing bad in sparring without armour… it’s something we do when needed… it would help you a lot in technique… the training swords leave only a paint mark, so no danger… so what’s wrong?”

Drift growled, the tip of his fangs flashing.

Half a joor later and they were still…. for the lack of a better word, negotiating. Wing was unbending to go through with his idea, Drift was unwilling to tell him why he felt so uncomfortable; but at least he got his interface covers back after making clear that those were simply not up for debate. Another half a joor gone and Wing disappeared, coming back with a long, shapeless cloak that fit for Drift and covered his armorless frame completely. Next, the jet agreed to use one of the private training chambers where nomech could watch them – Drift was aware that there had always been a Knight or two observing them to spar and he was taking no chances. 

All in all it was late afternoon that they set off for what was going to be their morning training session and obviously some of Wing’s friends came around to see why they were absent. Things got awkward, the uncomfortable, then embarrassing as the Knights all seemed to take it like Wing – like it was normal to be without armour. They even tried to explain it to him, but Drift had enough of talk.

“Let’s do this now. I’d hate if you undressed me for nothing.”

Drift was sure that sparring this way was to be awkward. Painful even, no matter what Wing said in assurances. Even the lightest training sword could dent the sensitive inner metal if it hit strong enough and in a normal session Wing would score on him a hundred times for his one lucky comeback. The former Decepticon has accepted that fact and swore to get better until he could win… but he was less than sure how this idiocy of a method would help him in technique. More likely it would embarrass him and give a lot of painful bruises. 

But he had no choice in the matter as Wing was adamant.

Standing there, mostly naked, with a sword in servo in the middle of the training mat had to rate as the queerest thing he’d ever felt. It was way beyond awkward or embarrassing. He couldn’t concentrate on his technique even as much as he had managed it lately. Wing was scoring on his bare protoform nearly constantly and he almost dropped the sword several times. It was surprisingly painless though. Wing managed to barely touch his protoform with his sword even when he came at Drift with a fast movement, slowing down his momentum at the last nanoklik. Thankful for any deities, he was at least not commenting on Drift’s worse than usual performance.

Sometime in the second joor, Drift realized that his discomfort was falling behind concentration and he managed to parry a few blows again. Wing was generally way beyond him in technique, but the jet was not sparring all out, like he would with another Knight – a fact that irked Drift usually, but was thankful for in this instance. It meant the difference between actual sparring instead of getting trashed completely. 

In fact it appeared that Wing was holding back even more than he would usually do, as Drift got bolder and bolder. The jet seemed to move slower and more transparently telegraphing his attacks, so he could parry most of the time, or avoid the attack by a quick jump, a twirl or bending backwards… ohh…

He could have never bent backwards like that in armour. The realization hit him like a sledgehammer, faltering in his steps. Drift leaned to the left, Wing’s sword sliding on his own, harmlessly deflected to the side. Now that he thought of it, the difference was obvious. His armour was not designed with swordplay in mind, Drift told himself, ignoring the fact that it was not really designed with anything in mind except protection. He was a sharpshooter, a frontliner in a war, he _needed_ that protection unlike the Knights who just… played with swords? 

So what if he could bend more without armour? It wasn’t like anyone sane would go to a battlefield half naked!

But then another thought came unbidden and Drift scowled… Wing had always been that flexible. With armour on and nacelles and that slagging longsword on his back… and he was still supple and bent backwards and sideways and… like he had no struts. 

“How?”

That his armour was designed that way was just half the answer, Drift, the warrior inside, instinctly felt that and wanted to know how.

“You can do that too. It’s why I insisted on this.”

An attack, a parry. 

“You did more than just insist.”

A growl, a snicker.

“True.” Wing admitted laughing.

“That was a nasty trick.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Drift scowled and didn’t answer. Answering would be to admit that panic when he came online with Wing leaning over him, divesting him of armor. How the tentative trust he was just starting to feel was cracking. 

“You can hate it all you want as long as you learn something of it.”

Let Wing think it was hate and embarrassment. Drift grunted. Another attack, another parry. They used the whole of the training chamber now and Drift felt Wing take it more seriously too. 

“So… how? Really? I mean… I get it this way, but how do you do it in armour?”

“Once you learn that you can bend, you’ll find a way in armour too. And it can be changed, redesigned if necessary, but only if you learn to use the added freedom of movement.”

Drift nodded, grunted as he parried a cut. It was logical really. Not something any sane Decepticon would do, of course, but here… yeah, here he could do it. And think of the advantage it gave him once he got back…

“Hey!”

Wing’s swordtip poked a sensor spot on and Drift jerked ungainly sideways, holding the spot with his free servo. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it was sure not pleasant.

“That’s not fair!”

Wing smirked and shrugged unrepentantly. His sword was seeking out all the formerly hidden sensors, like he had laser vision and Drift was once again outclassed. 

“You know these are not just for me to poke fun of.” 

The jet added like an afterthought as he found another sensor. Drift hissed. It went beyond annoying and into mildly painful now. 

“Which is why they have armour over?”

“Not what I meant.” Wing laughed and danced away from an angry slash.

“You’re barely using them, right?” An attack from the side and how did the sneaky jet got there… “Any attack you follow with optical sensors only.” Drift hissed as another sensor was poked painfully “I come from the side and still you just turn your head to follow.”

“What else do you expect?” Those sensors, Wing was poking were just standard pressure sensors, nothing special.

“Maybe I should blindfold you.”

It wasn’t a serious idea, Wing knew that Drift would never allow that. 

“So I can learn to see with pressure sensors?” Drift sneered back. “Sorry, I’m just a mech.”

“All fliers ‘see’ with their sensors.” Wing smiled, undeterred by his charge’s dour expression and continued to harass his sensory net. “you can do it too. It’s not quite like seeing, but as I move the air moves. Pressure sensors pick that up if you pay attention very carefully.”

Drift almost dismissed that outright… but it was true. Fliers did that naturally, he saw plenty of Seekers to know that.

“But they are born with it. I mean the coding to…”

“There’s no need for coding to make one pay attention. You have to make an effort.”

Drift slowed down – acquiring several paint strokes his protoform in the process – tried to… listen for want of a better word. But he, unsurprisingly, heard nothing. Except Wing’s laughter.

“You look so…”

“Say funny again and armour or no armour, I’ll…”

… determined.” Wing was trying to contain his bubbling laughter and focused on whopping his aft. Drift scowled and gave up. It was stupid. Fliers learned that slag as younglings. No way he could do it now, especially not with Wing distracting him… because it was downright distracting, the sword-strokes turning almost sensuous, their core temperatures both rising and Wing’s golden optics smoldering like miniature suns. Drift shuddered, charge visibly crawling on his bare protoform. This, like many of their sparring bouts would end in the berth. 

That part has always been fun.

-o-o-o-

Drift woke up and rose to one elbow. He still almost felt that nakedness, that queer lack of armour… but it gave him an answer. Rodimus was nagging him for decaorns now, complaining that he could never learn what the swordsmech was teaching him, never be so flexible and all that… Drift smirked and turned towards his berth parner deep in recharge. Their cables were still connected after yesterorn’s round of interfacing. With a swift sweep over the connection, he disabled Rodimus’s motor functions and leaned over the sleeping co-captain. With nimble digits he loosened the clasps and lifted away the shoulder piece.

Rodimus will be furious.

It will be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> It was a sudden idea I had while travelling by bus and wrote it down as I got home. I hope it means an end of the period of being unable to write and I can write my longer fics as well. I hope. Keep your fingers crossed...


End file.
